


Aftermath

by Justasmalltownfangirl



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, M/M, Male Homosexuality, One Shot, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justasmalltownfangirl/pseuds/Justasmalltownfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stars are not wanted now; put out every one<br/>Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun<br/>Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;<br/>For nothing now can ever come to any good</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is

What Thomas would remember the most was the days when they had gotten too far away. When they had just walked and walked, away from the hospital, away from the village, away from the world. And they had walked slowly with arms locked along small forest paths or followed the outlines of fields and there hadn't been a person in sight.

”You don't know what it's like”, Edward said. ”I hear everything, all the time, but I never see what's going on.”

And so they had walked, until the only sounds were of chirping birds and their shoes on the ground, and the only ones who could see them was the flies and the sun. And when they were alone Edward could slide his hand into Thomas' and put his head on his shoulder.

They weren't fast, not with the blind man fumbling with his feet and his cane and the one that could see preoccupied with keeping him upright and stop him from falling. But they weren't in a hurry, they didn't have anywhere to be. Time had stopped around them, lives were put on hold. There was a war, of course, but you never could've guessed it if you had wandered down a path outside of Downton, unless you had ran into the two uniformed men that walked it daily, hand in hand and with heads resting against each other's.

”Is it beautiful out here?” Edward had asked him.

”Yes”, Thomas had replied. ”Yes, it is. Very.”

If he had been just a bit more brave he would've told him that he couldn't possibly care less about their surroundings and that all nature was blurry behind him. Because it was him he was looking at, him he was admiring, him he thought was beautiful.

Another man would've said it, but Thomas Barrow knew better. He knew better than to place his heart in someone else's hands, knew better than to pour out all his feelings at every chance given. He had been hurt, he'd been left beaten, battered and bruised more times than he could count. And though there was something different about Edward, he didn't say a word. He decided to wait, like he had all the time in the world. Like everything wouldn't slip through his fingers before he was brave enough to be ready.

”There's a deer”, he would say.

And Edward's fingers would tremble at his cane and his mouth would shiver as he stared out into the distance and didn't see a thing.

”I think I can hear it”, he would whisper. ”I think I can-”

Thomas stood alone by his bed. They had cleaned it but no one had taken over it yet. He supposed there wouldn't be many days until another soldier would be lying there, a soldier that wasn't Edward Courtenay and would never be. They were overflooding with wounded men, cars arriving day after day. But no one else was supposed to be in that bed, it was Edward's bed.

”Do you pretend that I'm a woman?” Thomas had asked him after they had kissed, softly and swiftly, their lips only barely brushing past each other.

”No”, Edward had replied, brows furrowed and mouth frowning. ”Why'd you ask that for?”

Perhaps because it was easier to believe that he could only feel that way for some nurse and not for him, not because he was a man but because he was that man. Because no one had ever loved him as much as he had loved them, and he understood them. Perhaps because he was really the only option in there, because there weren't many women. And it would had been easy for him, because he didn't see. He could easily have imagined a nice girl he knew kissing him, instead of a pale, dark haired man with a scarred hand.

”No reason”, he had said, intertwining their fingers and looking out over the meadow.

Those flowers were nice, and he could've picked them for Edward if he wanted to. But Edward wouldn't ever see them, so he decided not to bother. He could imagine them himself, in a vase on the small table by his bed. They would've looked nice there.

”I'm not pretending that you're anyone”, Edward had said. ”You're Thomas.”

Afterwards he always regretted not picking those flowers. It would had been a nice gesture after all, but he had never been one for nice gestures. He had considered putting them on his grave, but then he had changed his mind. Because he had never been soft or sentimental, had he? He had never been the way his father had told him that he was, the way all the other boys had thought that he was. He had never been a sissy, he had been strong and a man. He could imagine the flowers there too, if he absolutely had to.

Edward had touched his bandage, stroked it tenderly and closed his eyes.

”You don't have to hide it”, he had told him. ”I can't even see it. But even if I could, then you still wouldn't have to.”

He had never asked how he had gotten shot, how it had happened. And Thomas was glad that he hadn't, because if he had he wouldn't had been able to lie to him. And he would have had to see his face turn cold and feel his hand go stiff, when he realized that he wasn't who he had thought he was. When he realized that he was a coward and a liar, a traitor and a disgrace to his country. He would never have been able to forget that, the moment the only person that didn't know how disgusting he was finally found him out.

He liked to look at his gravestone. Just stand there for minutes and look at it, read his name over and over. And see the numbers, the years that were closer together than they had been supposed to be, the life that had ended too soon.

He could had lived for at least sixty more years, he could had gotten married and had children and grandchildren and forgotten all about the silly medic that had taken care of him during the war, the silly medic that he had kissed and that had loved him more than anything. The silly medic that would never forget him, no matter how hard he tried.

They had never talked about the future, never discussed the possibility of an 'us' and how that could possibly have worked. They had never planned longer than the next day, had never thought about what would happen after. Maybe Edward had known already back then that he wouldn't have a future, that there wouldn't be an after for him. Maybe he had already made up his mind, or maybe he'd just had a funny feeling in his stomach. Whatever the reason, they never did. Thomas never told him that he would follow him to the ends of the earth if he'd let him, never told him that he didn't want anything more than to be with him for the rest of his days. He would never know what could've happened, how it all could've ended.

He hadn't thought about it, when Edward had woken up screaming from a nightmare, or when he had suddenly frozen and started to cry because for a moment, when he had blinked and closed his eyes, he had forgotten, and when he opened them again he had expected to see the world beneath his feet. He hadn't thought about a forever, about the two of them together. He had never gotten the time to stop and think about it, not when something was always happening, when he had to go running from room to room and help men he didn't give two shits about while only wanting to get back to the one that he loved. There hadn't been time, and he hadn't gotten the opportunity. He'd been content with sitting by his bedside and holding his hand, with walking beside him in silence, through the woods and towards the horizon. Away, away. Away from Downton, away from the people, away from the world. Away from everyone who judged them, away from everyone who had ever hurt him or Edward. That lump in his throat, strange feeling in his stomach and tingling sensation in his toes could all wait. They were problems for another day, he could face them later. Because he had always thought that there would be a later.

Sometimes he was angry with him. He was so angry that his entire body shook, that he had to clench his fists so they wouldn't hit something, so angry that all he wanted to do was scream. Scream out into the world, out into the nothingness, so everyone could hear it.

Because Edward had left him. He had been supposed to be the only person that wouldn't do that, but then he had. He'd left him alone with all the people, with the nightmares and the memories, with a scar in his hand and a world that was suddenly much more bleaker, much more faded, much less colourful. A world where flowers aren't beautiful and birds don't sing. Where he sat at the edge of his bed for thirty minutes every morning, telling himself that he needed to get up, when all he wanted to do was lie back down, close his eyes and never have to wake up. Because he didn't have a point, didn't have a meaning, didn't have a direction to head towards or anything to live for. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, and all because he was gone. Because he had slit his own wrists without even saying goodbye. He'd only clenched his hand hard and cried silently.

”But what am I supposed to do?” he had said.

No goodbye, not an 'I'm sorry', no explanation, nothing. Just a 'what am I supposed to do?' that Thomas would be stuck with for the rest of his life, that he would hear in every gast of wind, that he wouldn't ever get out of his head, that he would repeat time and time again in his dreams.

_But what am I supposed to do?_

But he had no right to be angry. Not when it was he who had failed him, not when it was his fault that he had to do it, not when he hadn't been able to keep him there. He hadn't been able to save him, and he had killed himself, ended his life, because Thomas hadn't done what he had vowed to do. But he always did that. He alway failed, he was always a disappointment. Not even when he tried could he do something right, not even when his only chance at happiness depended on it.

He would ask him to forgive him. He would look up towards the sky and say it silently in his head, and he would say it out loud to his gravestone, to the place where his remains were far below ground. But he could never know if he forgave him, could never know if he blamed him. Because Edward was gone, and that's why he was there in the first place.

He was alone. There was no one to fend off his nightmares about the trenches, nothing to keep his mind off his hand. And he knew, that if he had ever had a chance at happiness then it was gone. And he knew, that he would wake up ten years later and still feel like that, still miss him with all his heart, still remember exactly how his face looked and how it felt to kiss him.

When he stood there by the meadow and watched the flowers, for a second he could almost feel him, his arm around his waist and his head against his shoulder, and he could practically hear him breathe and his heart beat. He didn't know what kind those flowers were.

He wondered if he had known that he loved him. If he had been able to tell, even though he couldn't see how he broke out smiling every time he saw him. If he had loved him enough so that he had noticed, that he had felt it. He should've told him. But then he looked out over those flowers, and he remembered Edward beside him.

”Is it beautiful?” he had asked.

”Yes”, Thomas had replied. ”Yes, it is. Very.”

And he thought that he might've known it anyway.

 


End file.
